


Olympic Gold (Spit Take 2.0)

by ModernArt2012



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Olympics, Outed, Secretly Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 13:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13366032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernArt2012/pseuds/ModernArt2012
Summary: Yuri and Otabek have been married since 2020. Its 2026. Minami spills the beans.





	Olympic Gold (Spit Take 2.0)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [howlingmoonrise (TheDarkStoryteller)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkStoryteller/gifts).



> For Howl.

There are few better ways to celebrate a clean sweep of the top two spots at the Olympics than celebratory sex all night long. Unlucky that Baldie and Piggie decided to go and scandalize the ice dancing community after retiring from singles due to ice dance regulations being “vague and permitting” and the two of them being entirely too disgusting even as old geezers with zero sense, because Yuri would have loved to have kicked both their asses simultaneously, but Emil taking third was good too. Eurasian shut out was a win for everyone but the Americas - _fucking suck it JJ you overscored ass_ \- and they have bucket loads of condoms everywhere for a reason and that isn’t just to look good.

 

Really, they’re doing the world a favor by making sure all those condoms and lube packets don’t expire and go to waste. Pro athletes professionally testing prophylactics. Maybe Trojan and KY should give them a sponsorship. He snickers into his husband’s well muscled chest. Dark eyes meet his as a pointed eyebrow is raised in his direction. Smug and warm, Yuri complies with the silent question, “Sponsorships from Trojan and KY. Thoughts?” The amused tug at the corners of Otabek’s mouth is answer enough.

 

Yuri lifts up to kiss Otabek thoroughly in their dimly lit and musk-filled suite. Rather Otabek’s, because Kazakhstan only had one skater and the sledding team swore their teamwork necessitated them sharing a single room, but theirs all the same. It’s familiar and thrilling and he’s debating the merits of being able to walk straight over the merits of another round when someone at the door goes ballistic.

 

This had better be incredibly important. He groans and disengages to answer before they blang a hole through the door. Otabek stops him, sleep rough and rumpled, and why the fuck isn’t Yuri back there having intense and rowdy sex again? The knocking comes back, something like the ‘Theme of King JJ’. Who the fuck ever? “Yuri. Pants.”

 

Fuck. Right. He pulls on the first pair on sweats he lays his hands on, rumpled in the space that passed as a living room, uncaring that they’re probably both not his and not on right before yanking the door open slightly. “Hello?”

 

He immediately wishes he hadn’t left the bedroom. Yuri slams the door shut and stalks off.

 

He’s halfway crawled back onto the bed - his Beka looks so lovely, settled back like an underwear model or a cologne ad, or a particularly resplendent, debauched Olympian waiting for his lover. “Now, where were we?” The banging starts up again, and so does his phone. Only, that's not just _his_ phone's ringtone.

 

Considering how to wind goes out of Otabek, there's no salvaging the situation. Yuri re-vests himself of his recently re-removed pants, grabs his phone, and yanks open the door.  JJ, Phichit, and Leo go tumbling to the floor, but Yuri gives _zero fucks_.

 

Instead he answers his phone. “ _What.”_ Dangerous territory, since Yakov and Lilia and Deda are the only other people besides Otabek who have the override code to his “Do Not Disturb” setting, but Yuri is a punk and lives on the edge. Or something.

 

The screaming on the other end send ice down his nerves. He hangs up and turns his ire to the as-of-yet still living sacks of flesh on the couch. “ **_What_ **.”

 

Their babbling shuts up quickly. Yuri will need to remember this trick. The trio exchange glances, then Phichit holds out his phone. Yuri looks at the opened page - a tweet by Kenjirou, who's been training under Piggie for men's singles but due to injury had to miss the Olympics. He reads over it again, just to be sure he's not imagining things, then swears virulently as he races for the bedroom.

 

Otabek meets him at the door. His usual serene poker face is shattered, eyes wild and hair askew. Yuri’s known him long enough to know that look. That look is the Look of Ultimate “Oh Shit.” It is not a Good Look. Otabek’s phone is blaring the squawking tones of multiple _someones_ yelling, and Yuri will bet his gold - _all of it_ \- on it being Yakov and Otabek’s coach yelling collectively. Together? At the same time down the same phone. Something.  

 

“Right. Fuckwits, out. I've got a chicken to murderize. Beka. My jacket.”

 

“Yura,” Otabek’s tone is warning, exasperation, and unconditional support all wrapped together, and Yuri loves him all the more for the last one, “The Skating Federation doesn’t take kindly to murderers.” Fair point. All the wind goes out of Yuri’s sails but he’s still annoyed as shit, so he takes the t-shirt he’s tossed and puts it on. Still, JJ’s eyes are glued in some sort of horrified fascination on the (probable) hickey at the base of Yuri’s throat, and Yuri is going to proactively take it as a win. If he ties up his hair to make sure it’s clearly visible and on display, then that’s because he’s more comfortable like that and not for any other reason.

 

The curling up around Beka is purely for spite though. The hand kneading his hip probably is entirely unconscious but also extremely telling and Phichit has three seconds to recognize that Yuri is two seconds away from taking Phichit’s phone and deleting all the photos then destroying the whole thing.

 

“So, you’re married?” Leo is speaking in his usual measured tones, directed more at Otabek than anything even as he pushes down Phichit’s phone and tilts JJ’s head back to straight instead of staring at Yuri’s collar. Shame, that.

 

This prompts JJ to blurt out, “6 years, Otabek! 6 years! You were best man at my wedding and you were _married_ then!”

 

Yuri keeps staring down Phichit - the man thinks he can covertly text and - fair enough - maybe he can, but Yuri is onto him and Phichit needs to know Yuri knows what he’s up to so he knows why Yuri kills him dead. Otabek shrugs, “I did say I had something important to tell you.” But Yuri knows Otabek is doing that thing where he’s not apologizing but also very well aware he’s in the wrong.

 

Yuri tunes out the rest of the discussion - damage control time, nominally, because Yakov’s probably already on top of this and trying to put out the fires and make as if everyone who needed to know knew and there’s been no scandal beyond two people having a private relationship while competing in the same sport. The fans are screaming, dying, and crashing whole sections of the internet if Twitter is anything to go by. Some people are spilling vitriol, but a small minority in the face of the idea that he and Beka have been married 6 years and spent most of the year apart and there isn’t even a hint of them colluding to throw competitions or anything remotely illegal. A fervent yet innocuous community is having a collective fit that “their ship has sailed!” and that they “so called it!” so Yuri throws them a bone and retweets the group’s extensive meta justification of their ship with a “;3c”, throwing gasoline on the fire. In for a triple, in for a quad and all.

 

Whatever discussion JJ and Beka have been having - with interjections by Leo, who has remained calm and non- confrontational even though JJ seems to want to turn this into a shouting match - comes to an abrupt end when JJ, seeming to realize Otabek isn’t going to try to justify himself or give some sort of apology beyond pointedly not pointing out the folly of JJ’s own self-absorption and narcissism, storms out. Phichit sighs pointedly. “He’s going to be angry about this for a while you know.”

 

Beka nods resignedly, and Yuri feels the long dormant spark of anger flashing through his core. He has half a mind to go after JJ, to very carefully outline in small words where that overinflated jackass stepped out of line, but he sees Otabek’s face again and instead laces their hands together. Beka first, like Deda. Always. JJ could be reminded of his overall inconsequence later. Maybe it was time to pull out that exhibition, the one with the tricks and fire? With the subtle french background audio of "Fuck Off Jean-Jacques"?

 

Leo sighs, then says, “Congratulations, even though it’s late. You’re good for one another.” Phichit murmurs something of the same, and that Yuri needs to keep an eye on his DMs for the other skaters’ messages, then they both leave.

 

Otabek curls in closer and Yuri fits them together like two matched pieces. He doesn’t need to look to know that Otabek’s face is painted with regret. And they have a world outside this apartment to face, eventually, their countries and governments and the ISU and their respective Skating Federations and interviews and paparazzi and other skaters and their own families. The fallout is going to be massive and awful and possibly hurt one of them. But Yuri cards his hands through Otabek’s hair and pretends this is just another warm vacation in the balmy Mediterranean, and they are soaking in each other without a care to the rest of reality. For now, this moment, where they are close and touching and comfort made tangible, it will have to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on [ tumblr](http://modernart2012.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Please feel free to leave concrit! I greatly appreciate it!


End file.
